


Oh Darling, What a Terrible Time You've Had

by Jagged1



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26312416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jagged1/pseuds/Jagged1
Summary: Jim ran his fingers through the still short hair of his military pet, down his neck and over to his shoulder. His thumb pressed into the scar there, not cruelly, but as a reminder of how and why he was here now.A Jim/John terrible, no good fic.  First chapter is a self-contained scene. Unfinished, abandoned.
Relationships: Jim Moriarty/John Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally just a shameless first scene, because I love bad-wrong Jim/John and collars. It got expanded a little, but I've long since fell out of this fandom and I doubt I'll ever get back on track to finishing this. Written originally 2010-2011, my Sherlock knowledge stops after series 2.
> 
> If any additional tags need to be added, please let me know. I want to be sure I'm tagging appropriately for people.

John jerked against the pull of the collar around his neck. The attached lead was being played with by a slim fingered hand, nails black as tar. The other held a wine glass, the blood red liquid inside swirling slowly around.

Jim took a sip before placing the glass down and pulling hard on the leash, dragging John closer to him. He gripped his jaw and dug his fingers in, forcing John’s mouth open even when he knew better than to try and keep it closed by now. He leaned closer and hovered over John’s waiting mouth and let the liquid dribble from his to John’s before letting him swallow it on his own. He grinned. Such a good pet. He settled back into his chair and waited for it to take effect.

Slowly, inevitably, John’s shoulders lost their rigid, determined set and relaxed into compliance. Jim only had to tug the slightest bit before John followed the leash, resting his forehead on Jim’s knee. He reached behind John and cut the ties keeping his wrists together and useless. He automatically moved to Jim’s side and let his head lie against the side of Jim’s leg.

Jim ran his fingers through the still short hair of his military pet, down his neck and over to his shoulder. His thumb pressed into the scar there, not cruelly, but as a reminder of how and why he was here now, that Jim could always be so much more brutal than he was. He’d have him trained yet.


	2. Chapter 2

“Sir, a group from ME-A wants to do business with you.”

Jim Moriarty ran a very successful business that dabbled in quite a few specialties in quite a few places. ME-A was very much within his area of expertise. It would have to be worth the effort though. “What do they want and what are they offering in return? They are in a bit of a tight spot at the moment.”

“Gift bags for a quick party and they are willing to trade toys.”

“Oh, they have done their homework, haven’t they? Hm, yes, and they certainly _can_ afford that. Pack your bags, boys; we’re going to Afghanistan!”

-~-

With Jim’s organization supplying the Afghani opposition, the war dragged on. The number of unaccounted grew and considering the rise in explosive use, it was no surprise. If only it was that simple.

Soldiers were going missing. They weren’t being killed. Not directly anyway. They only wished they were. No, they were being taken as payment for the help. In any business, keeping ahead of one’s competitors is extremely important. There are the classics and those are all well and good, but to really remain on top, one needs to be a little more, shall we say… _creative_. And one never says no to a few more hands.

-~-

Jim was getting bored. There were some good toys, a few he could turn into tools, but it was all so _boring_. There was nothing new coming from these raids. Low levels weren’t particularly _useful_ for anything, high levels always, _always_ reacted the same way (all that training did something he supposed), anyone cold enough was scooped up quickly, and the bleeding hearts weren’t remotely worth the effort, even if they did break so beautifully. He needed someone twisted _just_ the right way. It was a war; surely this wasn’t too much to ask for? He might have to find a new sandbox to play in soon.

News that their supplier was thinking of leaving soon spread like wildfire and forced some interesting changes to the battlefield. While IEDs were still common enough, their usage seemed to be have tapered off slightly and the number of scouts seemed to have doubled. The missing soldiers appeared to be narrowing into a “type”, a weird mix of brave and reckless and just good enough to get away with it, most of the time. It seemed logical enough to the higher ups. Wrong again.

Close! So close! They were trying so hard too. Almost, but not quite. Every one of them. Shame about that last one, Morstan? No, that was the pretty little nurse before him. She screamed so wonderfully, shame her talents weren’t quite right. What was his name, oh, Moran! Yes, Moran, he could’ve been fantastic, but he supposed that using such a novice for the acquisition was a silly idea in the first place. The next one was going to have to be the best in the business.

-~-

 _Just another day._ John sighed, bone weary. Heat. Check. Sand. Check. Gunfire. Check. Blood. Double check. God, he hoped he’d be able to do something, but he could tell it was too late and he only had so much to work with before using it on a hopeless situation. _Christ, you’ve got to stop joking. Make it through this, and deal with it properly later._ He loved and hated this more than he could say. Another man went down and he was off before he knew it. _Stop the bleeding, assess, always assess, can I? Will he? Yesyesyesyes, come on! Ye-_ Blank. Then: _pain, so much pain, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck pain god so much fucking pain, can’t, need, fuck, painpainpain, can’t, please god let me live._


	3. Chapter 3

_He is_ perfect _._

_-~-_

John was hardly aware of anything beyond _too bright, too clean, where am I, oh Christ_. He could feel the pressure of bandages wrapped tightly against his shoulder, when he was lucid enough to feel anything beyond the fog of pain and drugs. He knew he was a lucky sod to be alive right now. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling something was wrong, but he did just get shot and chalked it up to that. He hasn’t woken up to anyone tending to him yet and forced himself to stay conscious, if only to say thank you. His aching body always pushed him back under before long.

The next time he woke up, he saw a man with short, dark hair and one of the friendliest, if a little nervous, smiles he’s ever seen. He managed a slight smile back, hardly a quirk of his lips, before passing out again. He missed the _leer_ that slid onto the other’s man’s face.

-~-

 _He is_ better _than perfect._ Jim liked his records, liked them a _lot_. But the feeling he got when his lovely pet woke up and _smiled_ , oh, there was a thrill that shot through his body. He’d have to decide on how to play this game. A long drawn out ruse could be just what he needed to keep him occupied. And it had been _so_ long since he got to add a little personal touch to his projects.

He slipped into John’s room after checking the surveillance cameras to verify he was asleep. The doctor Jim employed had specific instructions to keep their little soldier pumped full of as much sedative as possible, to keep him off-balance and let him think what he would. He’d be changing those orders soon, but first… He removed the IV drip from John’s arm and injected just a little special something he had mixed for his pet. The syringe was disposed of and the IV replaced before he strode out of the room.

-~-

John woke up to Jim at his bedside more often than not lately. Jim, the man with the nice smile, the first person he saw after getting shot, the reason he was even here right now. According to Jim, he had been shot by a sniper, clean through the shoulder, he had been lucky enough to have someone come after him and drag him out of the battle. He was rushed to the hospital and had been here since. He had been unfortunate to have his wound become infected, but that was under control. Jim wasn’t a doctor himself, but he had apparently paid for this hospital and that was good enough for John.

When he asked why Jim was there with him so often, he’d only smile and say it was because John was the most important right now. He was quite a close call and Jim wanted to be there to make sure everything would go perfectly. When he wasn’t there he was making sure his business was running smoothly. When he asked what Jim’s business was, he would only say that people asked for his services and he provided.

They had pleasant chats and Jim seemed to be a great person. The only thing he was adamant about was that John absolutely finished the drinks that came with the meals. There was a special drug in it that would help his recovery along. It was easy enough to comply.

Eventually they started discussing what John would do once he had healed. As much as he would love to return to the field, they both knew it was not going to happen. Jim offered John a position in his organization. John naturally refused, saying Jim had done so much for him already; he couldn’t possibly impose on his kindness any more. Jim pointed out that John would be hard pressed to find something that would keep him satisfied back in London. (They both agreed London was the only place to live.) He was just shy of reckless at times and technically a liability to most places he could feasibly get employment at. John had to reluctantly agree after a few feeble perfunctory protests. And so it was settled that John would provide a combination of medical and guard services for Jim.

John wondered how his discharge was being handled, but Jim had assured him it had been taken care of. Jim felt responsible for his people and wanted John to focus on his rehabilitation. Any protests he made fell on deaf ears. Before he realized it, they had flown back to England and John was ensconced in Jim’s home. Jim insisted it was only logical if John was going to guard him and he admitted that he was concerned and wanted to make sure John was settling in well. The idea of leaving him on his own in a bedsit did not sit well with Jim. It didn’t sit well with John either and he wasn’t keen on losing the only company he had since he woke up. (There was something wrong with that, but he didn’t dwell on it.)

When John asked exactly what services Jim provided, he replied with varied things; research, printing, arranging transportation, etc. He explained that he tended to work with some rather unsavory people. Not intentionally, of course, but “You can’t run a background check on every client. You just can’t.” So there was some chance of danger. Jim said he tried to keep the transactions through anonymous means. That wasn’t always possible and even if Jim wasn’t in the direct line of fire, his people were. That’s where John came in. On the off chance anything drastic happened during the proceedings, he had the experience in dealing with those sorts of injuries. He was also capable of protecting himself should it come to that.

Initially, he was in charge of patching up Jim’s men. It looked as though the “trouble” wasn’t anything as bad as John had feared. Either that or Jim’s personnel were good. Very good. That was, quite frankly, a relieving thought. He didn’t like the idea of having people in danger, not while he was as indisposed as his injury forced him to be. Even though he was technically employed as a bodyguard, Jim didn’t take him along on all the meetings. He could see Jim was waiting for him to be more physically up to the task. That just meant he’d have to heal faster.

Slowly, John recovered the use of his arm and set about regaining the weight, muscle, and skills that had been second nature not so long ago. He had to do something to earn his place after all. He _would_ be ready when Jim needed him.

-~-

Jim hadn’t had this much fun in _ages_. His toy was being _so_ entertaining and he was pleased his fronts were still in perfect order. John had proven himself particularly skilled in ferreting out a lie based in total insincerity. And talk about _loyal_. One whiff of subterfuge and he was leaping into action. Quite literally. Seems his rugby instincts were still in top shape. And the _view_! His Johnny boy certainly had kept up his military regimen if the stretch of muscle he caught sight of was anything to talk about. To date, this was the best idea he’d ever had. And that, dear, was _such_ an accomplishment. But… maybe it was time to move the game in a new direction.

-~-

It was amazing, everything about this job. Thank god for Jim. John was alive, he was in the best health he could reasonably expect, and he was still doing what he felt was right. Helping and protecting. Admittedly once he was declared fit for all the jobs, everything sort of… escalated in scale. There were still layers of anonymity and various safety measures in place, but the danger definitely skyrocketed. Which was fine. Better than fine even. John did very well in high pressure situations. God, it felt good to be useful. He was quite alright with his lot in life at the moment.

Jim hadn’t told him any particulars for this meeting, not that he ever really did, and John was okay with that. He knew what he had to do and he would do it. They had pulled into what appeared to be a disused warehouse, again. Jim had explained it to John once. The more unpredictable the meeting place, the less likely that a nasty surprise would be waiting. Less prep time. Jim led him into a room complete with the cliché single light and a man tied to a chair under it. His head titled forward and from what John could see of his clothing, he looked as if he’s been in a fight. Jim walked up to the man and tapped the underside of his chin. With a groan, he lifted his head up and looked almost unseeingly at the door, before freezing, mouth hanging open in surprise. John would know. He was doing the same.

“Bill?”


	4. Chapter 4

"John? Wh-what are you doing here, mate? I thought- we _all_ thought-" Bill was cut off by a sharp smack to his cheek.

"Uh uh uh~ don't want to spoil the surprise just yet." Jim grinned. "I mean, we've only just gotten started. Where's the fun in reaching the endgame so quickly?"

John couldn't help it. He stood there, still as stone, and _stared_. What was going on? What was Bill doing here? Did Jim seriously just hit someone? Meek little Jim? The man was brilliant, better than that, but he never did anything remotely close to physical violence. He spoke slowly and deliberately, "What is going on?"

"John, I don't know what's happening, but _get out of here_. This man's-' Another backhand cut off his desperate pleas.

"Tsk tsk tsk! You just keep wanting to give Johnny-boy all the answers. If you can't keep quiet on your own, I guess I'll just have to gag you. And you had been doing _so_ well too." Jim produced a black silk strip of cloth seemingly from nowhere and John spared an absent thought that even in a hostage situation (because, god, what else could it be?) Jim was high end to a fault.

Jim whirled around Bill in a fit of manic glee, condescendingly patting him on the cheek as Bill struggled to move as far away from Jim as he could. He was shooting John looks that ranged from 'get the fuck out of here', 'oh god, I'm going to die like this, aren't I?', and one that looked like a dawning horror had just made itself irrevocably clear and it was all he could do to pity any and everyone who had the unfortunate luck to be privy to that knowledge.

"Jim? What _exactly_ is happening right now?" John asked slowly, carefully, as if he was dealing with a cornered animal. Each explanation John could think of only seemed more ludicrous than the last.

Jim pouted for a moment before answering. "Johnny, I thought you were better than this." He walked behind John and clapped his hands onto John's shoulders, maneuvering him further into the room, before stepping to the side and gesturing towards Bill like he was some sort of prize. "This is the job. Well, maybe not _job_ , more like a treat."

"Treat." His voice was perfectly steady, even if his mind was in overdrive trying to make some sense of everything. "How is having one of my best mates trussed up and held against his will a treat?"

"Well I'm certainly having fun, aren't you?" One look at John's expression and stance told him that no, no he wasn't and could he please get on with the explanation already? Jim sighed dramatically and threw his arms up in mock despair. "And after all that work, you won't even try and play!"

"And _what_ am I supposed to be playing, Jim?"

"Oh, that's much better, darling. You," Jim stepped closer and tapped on John's sternum, "are going to play a guessing game. You have to figure out why you," he pointed at John with a flourish, "are here", a wide opened armed gesture at the room, "now", a point down towards the floor, "with me!" He ended it with a mild wave at himself and an expression of childish glee and anticipation.

John blinked in surprise. That wasn't what he was expecting. Not that he knew what to expect, but still. "I was shot, we met when I was in the hospital, you offered me a job, I took it. What else is there?" He heard Bill make a muffled moan, but couldn't spare him a glance, too focused on Jim.

A sly little smile crept onto Jim's face. "Good, but _why_ were you shot?"

"It's a warzone; it's going to happen."

A thoughtful look appeared next. "Hm, let's try asking it like this. Why were _you_ shot? Not any of your friends, but you. And so precisely, too, just one shot and you ended up here."

"Luck of the draw, isn't it?" But now John wasn't so sure.

Jim heaved a dramatic sigh and gave John a disappointed look. "Please don't insult the both of us by saying that, Johnny. I _know_ you've thought about it, the angle, the placement, and so on."

He swallowed thickly. He had thought about it. About how lucky he was that it only managed to invalidate him, but not ruin him. About how he could still help in any way that he knew, albeit with a little more difficulty, but no less competently. About how he was so goddamn lucky that the sniper didn't kill him, because policy be damned, strategy says to take out the medical support first. He felt a shudder travel down his spine and suddenly the picture he was painting was so very not good.

Jim must have seen because his mouth split into the widest, most manic grin John had ever seen. It made the calm, soft tone of Jim's next words even more jarring. "Oh, you are good, aren't you?" He stepped right in front of John and leaned dangerously close to him, whispering into his ear. "And now, my dear, what do you think is going to happen to you next?"

John couldn't help the harshness of his reply. "Whatever you want, since you've been playing with my life this whole time, regardless of my input."

Jim straightened up, hands clasped behind his back. "True enough, but really you could play along with me. I've got enough puppets for a lifetime."

"Then why add me to the list?"

"Oh, Johnny, Johnny, _Johnny_. Who said you were a puppet?" He patted John lightly on the cheek, still somewhat condescending, but also indulgently. "You're my pet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I found the notebook where this was originally written and wanted to post it for completion's sake. I still don't intend to come back to this, but you never know.


End file.
